Saturday, March 28, 2015

This is a repost of a blog written by Barbara Bradley from the MFRW - Marketing Blog.

What I know about Triberr – The Real Basics

Putting it simply Triberr is a platform for blogs. It helps get your blog out to people who otherwise might not find it. Once you join Triberr and find the proper tribe your tribe members will upload your feed – your blog – to their twitter account.

I’m not going to go into detail on how to get started. Triberr has lots of documents that are easy to understand to help you understand the way it works. I’ve used them and they’re great, I found Triberr very easy to understand. If I had a question they had a tutorial for it. Anyway, once you load your RSS feed to Triberr, and there is a tutorial depending on the blog web site you use, you now have your blog programmed to go out via Triberr and your tribe mates. These tutorials can be found in the little drop down box labeled account, then help.

If everything goes smoothly, and most of the time it does, your blog will load to your stream within a few hours. I give it about a half hour and normally it is there, but every once in a while I have to give it a helping hand. You do need to know enough to know how to check your feed from time to time. I check for my blog and if I don’t see on my stream I go to my settings, then my blogs. There you’ll see the details of your blog, your rss feed and the opportunity to check and make sure it’s working.

Now your stream is the list of blogs waiting for you to release to your twitter account. I try to check mine twice a day and release the ones waiting for me. It doesn’t take long. I belong to ten tribes and can work my way through my list in about five minutes, but I don’t stop and read the blogs when I do that. My main goal is to make sure I release the blogs waiting for me. My tribe mates are kind enough to release mine, I should reciprocate. If I don’t release the blogs of my tribemates why should they release mine?

Since I joined triberr I have had a lot more visits to my blog. It has been a wonderful investment for me and it could be one for you too.

Friday, March 20, 2015

Blurb
Single mother Malika “Pumpkin” Tavares lost faith in fairytales after she fell for a toad. Now she believes she’s not cut from the storybook, heroine cloth and searches for Mr. Good Enough amongst the sidekicks and supporting men of the town.

Love at first sight isn’t a cliche for town royalty Armand “Manny” Charmayne. For generations the Charmaynes have spotted their soulmates by seeing a golden aura the first time they laid eyes on The One.
When Manny meets Pumpkin he sees…nothing, but sparks fly off the richter scale. The more he gets to know her the more he considers defying fate, if only he can convince her to take a chance on love again.

The Grand Gesture

Traditionally the Grand Gesture is known to be a common plotting point in romance stories where the hero does something bold or gives up something big in order to show the heroine that his love is true.

In Pride and Prejudice, Darcy puts aside his contempt of Wickham to help save Lydia’s reputation. This grand gesture is what finally convinces Elizabeth to take his hand.

In Twilight, Edward’s grand gesture, the thing that shows his true love of Bella, is when he sucks the poison out of her wrist without killing her.

For more on grand gestures, we’ll turn to the hero of my latest release, Pumpkin: a Cindermama story. This romance is a fairytale retelling of -you guessed it- the Cinderella story.

EXCERPT
The Mistress of Ceremonies hurried through her introductions and then the microphone was in Manny's hand, but he didn't take out the notes of his prepared speech.

"Many of you knew my mother," he began. There was a murmur of nostalgic assent throughout the crowd.

"You may not know that after her diagnosis, she spent most of her days watching romantic comedies. She believed she could laugh the illness out of her body. Her favorite moments in these films were something called the Grand Gesture. That scene just after all hope is lost because one of the lovers, normally the guy, has done something stupid that's led to the end of the relationship. So he thinks up this bold, romantic move to get the woman back."

A glance around the room told Manny that he held the largely female crowd in rapt attention.

"An example of a grand gesture would be a guy telling his estranged wife that she completes him in the midst of an angry mob of women. Or rescuing her underwear from the class geek and returning it to her at her sister's wedding. Or holding a boom box over his head, in front of her bedroom window, early in the morning, while blasting the song that was playing as he deflowered her."

A different wave of nostalgia swept through the crowd this time as they remembered these treasured moments of Hollywood cinema.

"In the real world, some people might call these behaviors creepy, or stalker-ish. But not my mother. She loved them. She believed in love, believed that when you loved someone you said it loud, you showed it often, and you never gave up."

Manny paused here, partly for effect, mostly to collect himself as visions of his mother's joyous face played in his head. He rubbed the heel of his hand against his chest.

"The national divorce rate is 50 percent."

There was no surprise in the room, where most of the men were older and the women on their arms were younger.

"There's never been a divorce in the Charmayne family. Not one recorded anywhere in our family line."

The sparkle of young women's eyes threatened to blind Manny from where he stood on the stage.

"What that means is when a Charmayne gives you their pledge, they are committed."

The decision was a split second one, but once Manny made it he stuck with it. He stepped around the podium, mic in hand and dropped to one knee. The gasp of every woman in the room was near deafening.

"To earn your vote, I will do whatever I have to, including blast Peter Gabriel in the streets. Charmaynes don't quit. I'm committed to this, to the people of this town. I hope that I can count on your vote."

The room erupted in thunderous applause, and the women's eyes sparkled even brighter.

We’ve seen literary heroes perform the feat of a grand gesture near the end of the tale.

In Pumpkin: a Cindermama story, my hero Manny talks about this moment in the first act. I take a moment early in the book to teach the reader the rules of the grand gesture in this speech so that they are prepped for later in the book when I break these rules in favor of a more non-traditional grand gesture near the end of the story. To find out who messed up and how they declared their love in a grand way, pick up the book.

Thursday, March 19, 2015

Betty Bolté writes both historical and contemporary stories
that feature strong, loving women and brave, compassionate men. No matter
whether the stories are set in the past or the present, she loves to include a
touch of the paranormal. Get to know her at www.bettybolte.com.

In 1782, the fight for independence becomes personal in the
port city Charles Town, South Carolina.

Midwife and healer, Samantha McAlester returns from the
front lines to find Charles Towne under British siege and the town's new doctor
at war with its citizens.

Dr. Trent Cunningham intends to build a hospital staffed
solely with educated doctors. What he doesn't need is a raven-haired charlatan
spooning out herbs and false promises to his patients, while tempting him at
every turn.

Then a mutual friend develops a mysterious infection.Trenton is stumped.Samantha suspects the cure but knows
treatment will expose her long-guarded secret, risking all she holds dear...
including Trenton.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Charles Town, South Carolina, 1782

“I must
say, I am glad this day is behind us and we can relax and enjoy the
festivities.” Samantha McAlester sighed, trying but failing to release the tension
building between her shoulders. As night descended upon the garden, she cringed
as barks of laughter interspersed the hum of the party guests’ conversation,
increasing in volume along with the flow of wine and ales. Before long, Trent
would arrive, and then what would she do? How could she tolerate his presence
after his disdain the last time?

“I find
it hard to fathom the danger you and Amy faced.” Emily Sullivan tugged her
shawl around her shoulders to ward off the late November chill and slowly shook
her head. She swiveled to look at Samantha, her long skirts rustling with the
movement. “If Benjamin hadn’t caught up with you, and then Walter hadn’t
stepped in to sacrifice his own life to save all of us, I don’t know what we’d
have done.”

“That’s
all in the past, Em. Do not dwell on the matter.” The horrifying sound of gun
shots around the manor house surely would echo in her mind in a similar manner
as to other shots and shouts she’d experienced over the past several years.
Walter had vowed to die defending his home, and he kept his word. Emily’s
cousin, Evelyn, had lost her husband but gained her freedom from his
overbearing nature. “No good can come from reliving this morning’s adventure.
Let us close the book on those events.”

Emily
shrugged and let her gaze drift over the garden before focusing on the
dark-haired couple strolling away. “You’re probably right, but it’s hard to
ignore the sobs from poor Evelyn up in your spare room. Besides, planning a
double wedding with such sadness hanging in the air might be considered
disrespectful. What do you think?”

“I
think you and Amy have the right to marry your betrotheds. And moreover, this
town needs the happy event after the terror and uncertainty we’ve endured under
the British occupation.” Standing beneath the peaked roof of the white-washed
gazebo, which was draped in dormant climbing rose vines, Samantha hesitated to
follow two of her closest friends as they made their way toward the cluster of
guests.

Emily’s
white teeth flashed as she chuckled. “I never thought I could be as happy as I
am in preparing to marry Frank.”

“The
idea of holding the wedding at the end of the holidays is brilliant.” Samantha
glanced at Emily, and couldn’t prevent a smile from easing onto her lips.
“Everyone will already be in a festive mood and gathered in town to be with
family and friends.”

Emily
bobbed her head and then indicated the pair moving away from them. “They appear
to be as besotted with each other as Frank and I.”

Amy
Abernathy and Benjamin Hanson ambled away from her, arm in arm down the crushed
seashell and pea gravel path toward tables laden with a variety of meats and
sweets. So much had happened over the past year, month, even day, she couldn’t
imagine what more awaited in the near future as the fight for America’s
independence from British rule ended in victory. One thing remained certain:
all the dueling and fighting, the anxiety and terror, her friends had endured
since the beginning of October had been relegated to the past. As the Britons
prepared to evacuate, she and her compatriots could all look to the future and
plan for a better world. Mostly, in the event. Her heart sunk at the thought of
Trent’s imminent arrival.

From
where Samantha stood at the very back corner of the property, she could see
over the heads of her guests as they wandered through the unusually large and
diverse garden. Winding paths crisscrossed the area, providing easy access to
the variety of flowers, vegetable and herbal plants, and bushes. Several tall
oaks and cypress lent shade in the summer heat as well as ingredients for her
simples and poultices. She drew in a deep breath of crisp fall air along with
the sense of peace only this space evoked. As long as her parents owned the
sizeable property, she’d be content with life.

They’d
spent years designing and creating the perfect medicinal garden, containing
every kind of beneficial plant that would grow in the hot and humid southern
climate. Surely they’d never move. Not after all their hard work and expense.
But with the tensions in town targeted at those who sympathized with the
British, the future for her family remained unclear, like the harbor on a foggy
morning. What if they were forced out by the British? Or someone else? The
South Carolina government had initiated a list of known loyalists whose
property was subject to confiscation as the British withdrew. Had her father’s
loyalties become too flagrant in recent months? Unease fluttered in her
stomach, and she pressed a hand to her waist, trying to quell the turmoil
within. What would she do without her lovely garden and charming home? Indeed,
without her loving yet stubborn parents?